Adjoining Rooms
by Su-Whisterfield
Summary: Just a random H/C vignette after Uncanny 446 when Sage kicks Kurt full in the back, I cringed in sympathy. Featuring my OT3


He slips out of our bed quietly, but still wakes me. He's over by the door to the adjoining suite. This is a very plush London hotel, the rooms are vast, the windows double glazed against street noise and the internal doors heavy, solid wood. Clearly the rooms can be linked to make even larger suites.  
But he still heard. His hearing is astonishing when attuned to someone or something that matters.  
The door isn't locked. He goes through, there's a brief conversation, then he's back.  
I sit up. "Trouble?" I'm reaching for the robe on the foot of the bed before he answers.  
"Nah. Yeah. Elf can't move, his back's in spasm, he's covered in bruises." He disappears back through to the other room.

Sage. Tessa. Our fight was three days ago and he never said anything. But then, with The Fury, there was hardly any time. But Kurt knows better than to ignore an injury, he had that drilled into him years ago.  
He's curled up in the middle of the king sized bed, the mirror of ours. The sheets are tangled round his feet, and he's vibrating with pain, so much I don't want to touch him for fear of making things worse. It's impossible to see bruises on that dark flesh. Which doesn't mean that they're not there. Kurt has the body of an Olympic athlete, keeping it in good order is not always easy.

Logan is crouched on the floor by the bedhead, talking, quietly, gently. Which are not adjectives I usually associate with him.  
He stands and comes over to the door, almost as though he's shielding Kurt from me. "Fancy place like this, must have a doc on call, 'Ro? He's a mess."  
"I'll call reception." I squeeze his forearm and go back into our suite to use the phone.

It's a long hour, waiting, Logan goes back to his place by Kurt's head, keeps up the stream of words, I don't think I've ever heard him talk for so long. It's awful, watching someone you love in pain and not being able to help, looking at the pair of them, I have the sudden realisation that it's not moody, dangerous Wolverine who's hard to read, but the gentle, sensitive Nightcrawler. Kurt keeps his pain and uncertainties so close to his chest, he so private and so fiercely independent that, even as one of his dearest friends, I'm an intrusion. But Logan is not.

The doctor looks too young to be qualified but his hands, on Kurt's back and thighs, are confident and professional and he clearly knows what he's doing. He injects a muscle relaxant and gets Kurt to swallow some painkillers. Heaven knows what he must think is going on, I'm wearing the hotel bathrobe, Kurt has silk boxers on, Logan is still naked. But, being Logan, he's so at ease with himself and his body, and his only focus is on our friend and what he needs, his state of dress seems totally irrelevant.  
The doctor's done. "I'll write a prescription for oral muscle relaxants and codeine, the concierge should send someone out to collect them for you. Any pins and needles, numbness, get him down to A&E for an x-ray, but I'm pretty sure it's just strained muscles and some very impressive bruises."  
"Anything else we can do?" Logan barely comes up to the tall doctor's chin.  
"The bruises are days old, warmth is going to work better than cold. Get a hot water bottle, blankets? When he's a bit more awake, a hot bath will help if you can get him in and out without it hurting. In the morning, get him to eat before taking any more medication."  
I see him out, thanking him for coming out in the middle of the night.  
"Not a problem," he grins, he's very charming. "My first patient with a tail."

When I go back into the room, Logan is on the bed, Kurt has his head on his chest and is visibly relaxing as the drugs hit his system. I straighten the tangled sheets over him and bend over into his eye-line, he's sinking rapidly.  
"M'sorry," he manages. Doped up, he's no longer bothered by me seeing him like this. I stroke those ridiculous, floppy curls off his brow.  
"We forgive you." I dare to kiss his forehead, but he's under.  
I meet Logan's eyes over the smooth curve of a blue shoulder. We are going to have a talk tomorrow. I don't need to say it, he can read my face; he and I have something very nice going on at the moment, but, asleep in his arms, is a relationship with a level of intimacy and trust I never imagined him capable of.

I go back into the other room to sleep. But l leave the door open.


End file.
